


Prom Night

by LibertinePast



Series: The Backyard [2]
Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: 80's Music, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibertinePast/pseuds/LibertinePast
Summary: A sequel to "Wheel in the Sky."Sometimes, there are do-overs.  Daniel trades ruffles, a smoking engine and a broken heart for something different.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Series: The Backyard [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756549
Comments: 9
Kudos: 85





	Prom Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Storyshark2005](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storyshark2005/gifts).



He can’t remember a time he closed his eyes and thought of the outdoors. The places that bring most people serenity aren’t usually sweaty, loud or covered in fossilized gum, but those are his shrink-talk “happy places” in shitty times. 

Johnny and nature didn’t go together until Miyagi’s backyard, and now it’s the place behind his eyelids when he needs to hit pause on everything. 

In that kind of heavy beat, he drifts off to that oasis in the ‘burbs, at dusk. The balance pond babbling away, crickets sweeping their own legs, the wind in the trees that seemed like a drunk voice sometimes. Those caveman wind chimes that just go _tonka-tonk_ and bring out some kind of primal shit.

Admittedly, the back of his mind spins over how much that property would sell for these days, but...he also knows he'd die to defend it. 

Time stands still back there. The car fleet is a part of that, but more importantly there’s no talk of the future--how to tell the kids, what exactly “this” is. 

When time isn't standing still there, it always reels back.

Johnny comes through the front and hears swanky saxophone music in the yard. “Aw, no, Sadé my ass,” he groans to himself. “You need a smooth operation alright, a fucking lobotomy.” Of course, there’s a smile jabbing its way through.

It gets better. 

The shoji back door in the studio is open, with a metallic party fringe curtain hanging down. He rolls his eyes and parts it, and the yard is strung with lights. Little spotlights are also rotating over the trees and fence posts. Johnny wouldn’t be surprised if they’re trained fireflies.

He sinks a few teeth into his lip. Not in the cocky way, but more like the “flatten the turn-on.” way. Even a slightly…ok, fine, a jittery way. “Alright, Daniella,” he calls out. “What’s this little scheme?” 

“I prefer the term ‘grand gesture,’” a nasally voice calls back.

“Yeah, I got a gesture for you,” Johnny snickers, jerking the air.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves...”

Daniel appears from the balance pond trees, in a slick tux that isn’t a rental, that he actually owns. An Encino normality, Johnny vaguely remembers, as he suddenly feels outside of his own body and timeline. His mind is Spam, and his eyes are scaling Daniel up and down. Like always, the warmth passing through him is jarring at first, and comes with chest pain that makes him wonder if he should be on one of those low aspirin regimens. He clears his throat over his hitched breath. His hands drop from his pockets. 

“What, um. What’s all this?” he mumbles softly. “The occasion. Or, did I forget…” 

Daniel is loving the squirming. “You didn’t forget anything. This is just a spontaneous little gala I’d like to call our official do-over of Senior Prom.”

The much avoided prom confession had finally happened a few weeks back. They hadn’t even had much to drink. The Staypuft-sized embarrassment at the time at least seemed laughable in hindsight. “Uh, don’t you mean _your_ do-over, LaRusso? Is that why you ditched the _Dumb and Dumber_ tux?” 

“Well, yeah, that’s a revision. But that night was pretty disappointing for you, too. _I_ disappeared halfway through, for one thing.” 

Johnny had assumed it was for another reason altogether...something of the “behind-the-bleachers” variety. The thought of Daniel’s clothes in a blue taffeta pile on the grass had him fuming. “Yeah, I noticed...that I wasn’t _blind_ once that suit was out of range.”

“Too bad you weren’t deaf. I remember watching Farah Fontaine yappin' your ear off. She made _Susan's_ voice seem pleasant and melodic.” 

"Like I never wish _you_ came with a mute button, Adenoids?"

Farah had unfortunately assumed that a karate beefcake could dance, and goaded him into showing off and spraining his ankle. Sex? Forget that. _”You’re in pain,” she whined. “I totally don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have!”_

_“Please, I insist...” Johnny winced. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”_

_“Absolutely not, Mister. We’re going to cheer you up at the waffle house.”_ She even cut them up for him.

"I really can't describe the satisfaction of knowing you didn’t get any that night either," Daniel smirks. 

"Yeah, well, if you think you're gonna set that right tonight,you're--" The music slips into “Can’t Fight This Feeling,” which makes Johnny stammer. "...you're...just--" He's blushing, too, although he’ll probably say it’s eczema or something. 

"I'm sorry, what? Could it be you've...forgotten what you started fightin' for?" 

"Oh for God's sake." Johnny is ready to revise the Speedwagon theory to _what kind of a man_ **_does?_ ** “OK,” he sighs. “I’ll play along with this little delusion, fine.” He finally notices the banner on the fence, made to look like it came from a dot-matrix printer. “Prom Under the Bonsais?” Johnny snorts.

“What. Proms are always ‘under’ something.” 

“How can it be _under_ a tiny tree? What are we, midgets with scoliosis?” 

“Alright, alright, gettin’ all nitpicky here.” 

“So do I get a tux too, or do I get to feel like the under-dressed wastoid?” 

Daniel whips out a garment bag that’s hanging on a tree. “Actually, this one turns things up a notch compared to mine.” 

Johnny squints and snatches the bag away. “Good. Brace yourself for a 9.0 magnitude boner."

He comes back out to the yard after changing, matching Daniel except for an electric blue cummerbund. He slicked his hair back with a little water, like a middle schooler. His eyes glint with irritation, but he’s also getting worked up from the enchanted look Daniel is giving him, like Jersey Boy has found the Coney Island of the West.

He gestures gruffly over the cummerbund. “Very funny. I’m not stupid, man, I know these things aren’t cool anymore.” 

“So? Zebra T-shirts have _never_ been cool. If _you_ like it, that’s all that matters, amirite?” 

Johnny shrugs, patting his stomach. “It kinda sucks everything in, actually. I’m good. You uh...still didn’t have to...get all creative. It’s not like this milk isn't free."

“Exactly. So at least you know my motives are purely nostalgic.” 

Johnny sighs. “So, are we gonna slow things down, or fight James Bond style?” 

“I’d rather you not split those rented pants tryin’ to block me.” 

“Fine. I’ll just step all over that beastly right foot of yours.” He takes Daniel’s hand and jerks him possessively into his chest, but his blinky eyes give away the tenderness underneath. The foot in your face, your Achilles heel. Same difference.

As they move together with magnetized paunches, the cypresses swaying around them, Johnny imagines ruffled Daniel complaining about prom night to his Sensei. _“This sucks, man!”_ And the poor old man was probably like “ _I make tea from corsage, feel better.”_ It’s weird that Johnny has become the teamaker now, although his brand of comfort is usually something much different.

Daniel glides along and Johnny follows with iceberg feet. “Dancing really isn’t that different from karate. Just shifting stances over an’ over, that’s all,” he croons softly.

“Yeah, without any ass-kicking in between. I dunno. The music messes me up. I’d probably be shitty at karate if I went to one of those dojos where they blast techno in your face.” 

“I think that theory holds up--music can be very distracting. I got kicked in the balls at a Japanese sock hop.” 

Johnny isn't even gonna tackle the "why" of that sentence. “Did your hot geisha girl massage them later?” 

“Ey. Mr. Distasteful over here. Could you not?” 

“There you go again,” Johnny grins wickedly. This is his new button to push. Daniel is particularly defensive of her, although he doesn't even know her last name. “The ‘one that got away.’ I mean, _all_ of them got away, but Kuki is the favorite.”

He doesn’t even correct him _._ He closes his eyes, finding the right words. _“....You’re_ the one that got away, Johnny. I mighta...kicked you away, but still.” 

“You gonna kick me away now?” 

“Nah. Again, rented tux. The pond is right behind you...” 

A lopsided smile.“Then we’re good.”

That was another thing that made dancing different than karate—feeling Twerp’s little bird chest pump wildly. He’s lucky they don’t do jujitsu.

The Honeydrippers version of "Sea of Love" comes on, the official theme song of Prom ‘85. Daniel runs his fingertips along the nape of Johnny’s neck, something that either electrifies him or puts him to sleep. Daniel remembers that by the end of senior year, Johnny had kind of a mullet growing on this spot, which he denies. He stands by his theory that it's only a mullet if you can braid it. " _I wish I could put on that hair right now so we could play ‘braid it or shut it,’"_ he always says.

“Do I get a handie during this dance, Sadie Hawkins?” Johnny asks. “Nobody’s prude mom is scoping out the room to slap you with a ruler.”

“Shouldn’t _I_ get one for goin’ through all this trouble?” 

"It’s not my problem you have a heart for servitude. You'll be face-first in my pants wearing my cummerbund as a headband later, guaranteed. Your ‘basic of life’ is this dick.”

“Re _he_ ally."

"You didn’t seem to need the other kind when you went down on me in the pond. I want a re-do of _that_.”

Robert Plant happens to sing “ _come with me_ ” at that moment, and Daniel snickers. Sating someone had never turned him into a Navy SEAL, until that night. “Remember what the health teacher said. If all you think about is the after-prom, you won’t enjoy the actual prom.” 

“Aw, but I’m jizzing in the rented pants as we speak.”

Daniel just shakes his head and somehow raises his eyebrows while squinting. Johnny has mixed feelings about that look. He blocks it with a kiss, taking what he needs and daring Daniel’s passion to spill over. As usual, Daniel rises to the occasion, moaning at a pitch much deeper than his voice, breathing in and out from the mouth that still curses his name, but with his fingers laced in his hair now.

“Johnny?....” Daniel offers when they finally break. His name as a question always reminds Johnny of that time in the showroom, when the dork recognized the back of his head.

“There’s not enough room in the Nash, slutboy, remember last time? It’s the back of the ‘42 pickup or nothing.” 

He knows Johnny knows that’s not what he was going to say, but then he forgets what he was going to say. Johnny's waltz is a little smoother now, the confidence boost of a flaming red Daniel undeniable. He doesn’t say anything for a while, actually, imagining the cargo bed of the pickup filled with bonsais, amidst a much different kind of...delivery.

“...Pff. A football player,” Johnny sighs, shaking his head.

“What?” 

“Mills. I can’t believe she left us for a guy in tights.”

“You really shouldn’t comment on anyone wearin’ tights after your X-Ray bodysuit.”

“You talk about that costume at least five times a week. You realize that, right?”

“What. It’s hard to forget an actual pubis drawn on someone’s crotch. Like, glowin’ in the dark.”

“The bones didn't glow in the dark! You’re exaggerating, as usual.”

“They glowed,” Daniel says, the final word. “....C'mahn. The moment, Johnny. Let’s get back to the moment?”

"If I wasn’t in the moment, would I do this?” 

Daniel expects something lewd, but Johnny just kisses his neck. Nothing gets Johnny motoring like that moment when Daniel slightly leans his head back, the little shiver of breath. The tiny bite and the gasp of his name, usually just "John" at times like this, but he can make that one syllable go on forever.

A dazed Daniel finally meets his eyes. “Righteously mine, Princess,” he smirks. “Tagged and bagged.”

One of the few times he isn’t wrong.

"Sea of Love" ends with its held note, and maybe that song--maybe the whole billboard chart from May of ‘85--is finally less painful. Sometimes _the day I knew you were my pet_ isn’t the first time you meet, but the second one.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
